


closest to heaven (i'll ever be)

by magicdraining (jadeu)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Gangs, Gangsters, Gun Violence, Gunplay, M/M, Master/Slave, idk what i wrote, im sorry, sort of mafia au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeu/pseuds/magicdraining
Summary: like all lost boys, baekhyun has started with a dream.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this wouldn't be a fic if muriel wasnt with me.  
> this was written when lotto was released, and i actually finished it two days later. but i wasnt satisfied and wanted to improve it and now i'm totally lost ?? i forgot what i wanted to add into this. it never improved so i'm publishing it to clean my drafts, what an awful reason orz

The minute hand on his wrist watch moves too slow for his liking. Bored, Baekhyun puts a foot on the cylinder lock before swinging a leg up the top of the cage that housed the slaves for their trade tonight. He bends one leg to sit comfortably on the metal bars, with the other one suspended on air. The checkered tiles look far away from up here. The slaves are peacefully sleeping beneath him.

There's the sound of a car pulling on the driveway and soon, the new client is striding towards him.

Baekhyun has never seen that face before. He’s been warned that the new client looks like trouble, but Baekhyun’s only ever known the headquarters’ four walls; he doesn’t know how trouble would look like. 

Black from head to toe? A pair of tight jeans too distressed to be able to cover the knees? A band aid on the side of the nose bridge? Are these the reasons why they said this man looks like trouble?

 _Park Chanyeol_ , Baekhyun recalls the brief details given to him in a few sheets. They were generic. Jongin took note though, that Park Chanyeol always escapes from the cops.

“Why do they look like they’re dead?” Chanyeol points his chin towards the slaves inside the cage. Baekhyun is curious at the deep voice of this supposed trouble.

“Morphine,” he simply says, thinking a word alone can explain everything. He jumps off the cage.

The Chanyeol guy nods. A snap of fingers and another guy emerges from the car, holding a briefcase presumably loaded with cash. Baekhyun knows the drill.

When Baekhyun hands Chanyeol the key to the cage, their fingers brush.

oOo

If Baekhyun is honest to himself, he doesn’t like working in this industry. But one thing you should know about him, is that he doesn’t want owing other people. And that principle is the single factor that drove him to agree being one of Jongin’s men.

When he’s been roaming around the streets, homeless and hungry, only Jongin spared him a glance, rolled down the window of his Rolls Royce and opened the door to the shotgun seat. Before that moment, Baekhyun’s dreamt of singing in front of an audience- a crowd applauding at the end of his song- and not this, being in an abandoned circus and exchanging people with stacks of bills.

But this is the road he travelled, and this is also the road where he’ll die, he guesses. It’s been a couple of years, dealing a cage of slaves from one client to another, in behalf of Jongin who hides behind shadows to protect the business, somehow. 

Maybe at some point, he’s been grateful, but he’s also thought about what would have become of him if he didn’t get into the seat of that car that day. And maybe he should be grateful with what he has now. Not all people can get a second chance at living, even if it’s by gripping a knife.

oOo

It’s not uncommon to have a client order from them a second batch of slaves. It’s uncommon, however, for any of these clients to take an interest on Baekhyun. It's to the extent that Chanyeol comes unaccompanied by anyone anymore.

“You look soft,” Chanyeol says with Baekhyun’s chin tilted upwards between his forefinger and thumb. “Maybe even prettier than the slaves you trade to us.” The way Chanyeol is looking at him makes Baekhyun wonder if this is how the slaves feel when Jongin personally checks upon them. 

The drugged slaves locked up inside the metal bars lie unconscious behind him. Baekhyun didn’t really want to drug them, especially when he’s already talked to one of them before, but it was Jongin’s order.

Baekhyun holds his breath when Chanyeol inhales the scent on his neck, Chanyeol’s nose tracing a line on his skin almost tickling him. Baekhyun tries hard not to think that Chanyeol’s lips are pressed against his collarbones, as light as a feather touching him.

“Maybe you’ll be traded as a slave someday?” Chanyeol whispers. 

(This is not exactly Baekhyun’s ideal place to get intimate, inside this abandoned circus tent with its checkered floor collecting dust.)

Nimble fingers unbutton Baekhyun’s shirt from the top, and when they try to do something more, Baekhyun stops them. “Who knows if I’ll be inside that cage someday?” He throws the hand away from him in contempt. “Right now, I’m not a bed slave for you so you better keep those hands to yourself before I shoot each finger off their knuckles.”

Baekhyun draws his revolver as if to prove a point, but Chanyeol just chuckles, raising both hands.

“Just saying." There's a smirk playing on Chanyeol's lips. "Because I’d be the first to buy you out of that cage, if ever.”

oOo

The third time Chanyeol gets a cage of slaves from him, he almost witnesses something despicable: Park Chanyeol, with one of the slaves hunched before him, her nails digging crescents on his leather jacket and a whining mess against the steel bars.

Baekhyun knows her, the slave. He's talked to her before while he checked up on them having lunch and she asked if she could drink one of the guard's leftover apple juice. But now looking at her being manhandled by Chanyeol, tears of pain pooling in her eyes, Baekhyun wants to break bones. Chanyeol’s bones.

Maybe he chooses to break his own bones when he decides at the very last minute to throw a punch on Chanyeol's face and effectively pushing him away from the sobbing girl.

“Next time you bed any of these slaves before your boss does, make sure they’re not crying while you’re ravishing them.”

Something in Chanyeol’s eyes changes then. There’s amusement in his gaze as he regards Baekhyun this time and Baekhyun feels needles prickling at his nape.

“So what if I want to bed them before my boss does? You’ve already sold the slaves to me, Baekhyun.” Baekhyun notes that his name sounds strange on Chanyeol’s lips. “Are you trying to play the hero by punching me?”

“That wasn’t my point, stupid.”

“So what if-” Chanyeol doesn’t get to finish what he was gonna say because Baekhyun lands another blow on his cheek, like a slap, and then on the other, to put some color on that pale skin. And then on the stomach, until Chanyeol lands on his back on the floor without even giving a fight. Until Chanyeol loses his consciousness.

Baekhyun hasn’t even looked behind his shoulder yet to look apologetic to his almost acquaintance before there is the unmistakable sound of sirens.

“Well, fuck.”

It’s complicated. If Chanyeol would be caught, he would be endangered. Chanyeol could tell the police who he trades the slaves with. Jongin had said, “make every transaction clean.” But there wasn’t ever a ‘clean’ transaction when you’re in this line of business. Baekhyun pulls out his gun and shoots the slaves in between their eyebrows, three of them inside the cage, their blood splattering all over the dusty floor, before he looks at Chanyeol’s body lying by his feet. It would have been so much easier to pull the trigger.

In spite of himself, Baekhyun hauls the body on the passenger’s seat of Chanyeol’s Phantom. Baekhyun briefly wonders if everyone in the industry owns a Rolls Royce.

He almost breaks the meter when he steps on the throttle and Chanyeol, crouched over the dashboard, is lurched backwards with the sudden movement. Baekhyun strays his eyes from the road to look at Chanyeol blinking the stars away. The sound of the sirens makes him step on the throttle with an urgency.

They’ve left the perimeter of the circus but Baekhyun’s still not slowing down. The sound of the sirens still keeps coming, not at all fading. A bullet hits the side view mirror and Baekhyun’s heart hammers inside of him.

“Fuck, that thing costs more than all of their cars combined,” Chanyeol mutters beside him.

“What do you have to worry about?” Baekhyun snaps irritably. Chanyeol should just be grateful the bullet didn’t land on him. “You can ask your boss to buy you hundreds of those when you-”

“Just focus your eyes on the road, damn it.”

They turn around a block, Chanyeol leaning forward just in time for Baekhyun to hear another gunshot. He’s pretty sure there’s another bullet that hit Chanyeol’s car. 

There’s no sound of complaint from the other, and Baekhyun doesn’t know where the bullet has landed so he assumes they’re pretty safe, no flat tire or something. 

His foot starts to hurt with exertion on the throttle, pushing the car to two hundred kilometres per hour. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down even when the sound of the sirens completely fades away. 

They’ve gone a long way, he thinks, turned at unpredictable corners that he doubts the police could follow them here. His foot is still pressed on the accelerator. Their chasers’ Toyotas seem too slow compared to the Phantom Baekhyun is driving right now.

There’s a pant beside him. “What happened to the slaves?”

“Shot them all. You can’t get a refund.”

“You killed them?” Chanyeol scoffs. “How are you better than a man who tried to force himself on one of those slaves?” Chanyeol tries to laugh, but ends up groaning. He sounds like he’s…

Baekhyun slows down in the middle of nowhere and parks the car on the side of the road. He looks over at his only companion, crouching on his seat and pressing a hand on his arm. There’s blood on Chanyeol's palm, trickling down his hand.

“You got shot?” Baekhyun checks for the compartment under the seat and finds some gauze. He grabs them and leans towards Chanyeol, pressing the sheets on the wound where the bullet has kissed his skin.

“It’s just a missed shot.” Chanyeol tries to make it sound little.

“A missed shot that still cut your skin. You’re bleeding.” Baekhyun’s brows furrow. If Chanyeol’s arm didn’t catch the bullet, it would have hit him.

“We bleed to know we’re alive.”

What the hell... Baekhyun doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t know if Chanyeol was trying to lighten the atmosphere by being poetic.

“Give me your arm.” Baekhyun makes a tourniquet around his bicep and when it’s tight enough, Chanyeol pulls his arm back into himself. “Stop moving, I haven’t even tied the knot yet.”

Then Baekhyun registers the warmth of Chanyeol’s breath against his cheek, the firm muscles where his elbow is leaning on, the proximity of his ear and Chanyeol’s lips. He tugs at the knot a little bit too harshly before stumbling backward, but of course Chanyeol catches him by the shoulder with his good arm, before his back hits the steering wheel. Baekhyun looks up in time so that their gazes meet, and his breath is taken out of his lungs as if he’s drowning-

He inhales too much air by the time he breathes again. He turns away from an amused Chanyeol, and he doesn’t want to think that his cheeks are burning.

“You know, you’re pretty funny. You make acquaintances with the people you’ll later sell as slaves, then you try to defend them from rape or something more horrifying their owners could do to them, but you shoot them dead just so the police couldn’t get them.” Chanyeol says Baekhyun’s funny, but he’s not laughing.

“I don’t like it. But it’s my job. And I owe him my life, so I need to follow his orders.”

Chanyeol nods. “I don’t like that I’m doing this either.”

“So why are you doing it?”

“Same reason as you.” Chanyeol looks at him. In front of them where the car is facing, the sun is setting and the last bits of light cast shadows on Chanyeol’s face. He’s paler right now; the gunshot wound probably drained his blood more than they think it did. Baekhyun finds his gaze drawn to the slope of Chanyeol’s nose, the pained expression of trying to contain how much the wound hurts by biting his bottom lip, or clenching his teeth. Baekhyun’s gaze lingers on those plump lips as he speaks, “It’s something I need to do.”

There’s nothing that follows those words, and Baekhyun thinks it’s better not to ask. He lets go of what he felt moments ago. They should get that wound treated.

oOo

Someone told Baekhyun he’s been summoned by Jongin. Before opening the door, Baekhyun rolls the kinks out of his neck, trying to relax his composure. He steps inside to face the back of Jongin’s chair. When his boss turns around, there’s a small smile gracing his face. Baekhyun can feel the ghost of a lump on his throat.

“Come here, Baekhyun-ah.” There’s no danger in his voice. But living in here for years taught Baekhyun that Jongin doesn’t give away his plans. His voice, the words he uses, his smile – no one can figure him out just by judging those.

Baekhyun steps forward. And Jongin still beckons him with a finger. Closer. Baekhyun leans forward until Jongin grabs him by the shoulder. The edge of the desk between them digs through Baekhyun’s stomach. He can hear Jongin take a sharp breath. And then the words whispered into his ears, “I think you smell somehow different.”

The sound of Baekhyun's gulp is almost audible. He wills himself not to stiffen or else Jongin would know. “How so?” The moment his shoulder is freed from Jongin’s grip never comes; instead, he is shoved face first into the desk, cheek pressed against its cold surface.

Jongin nuzzles his nape from the spine to his hair. “You smell like the leather seat of some kid’s cheap car.”

Instead of thinking about a reply he knows his boss would just see through, Baekhyun thinks about how Jongin categorized one of his own cars as cheap. Maybe a car’s worth is just a few coins for Jongin who probably earns that much money every hour.

“When have you stopped listening to me, Baekhyun-ah?”

And the tone of Jongin's voice, the disappointment lying there. Jongin's never had to use that line on him before, because Baekhyun was always obedient. And now, knowing that he has disappointed the one person he wants to be useful to...

“I’m sorry, master.” Baekhyun manages to contain his sob. Jongin pushes him impossibly further on the desk.

“I’ve always liked you best because of how obedient you are, Baekhyun-ah.”

Jongin slackens his grip on Baekhyun’s shoulder but doesn’t let him raise his head from the desk just yet.

“I told you he looks like trouble. And what do we do when we meet trouble? We stay away from it. Isn’t that what I taught you?” Jongin makes it seem like they’re just talking about having a picnic next weekend.

Baekhyun’s chin is lifted off the desk and he’s blinking at the face of Jongin so close to his. He asks, “How do you know he’s trouble?” 

For the first time, something flashes in Jongin’s eyes. Baekhyun hasn’t seen a lot of them to know what it is. “If I catch you conspiring with the enemy—”

“How is he even an enemy when he’s our client?”

“When we’re in this line of business, everyone is the enemy. What would make him different? Think before you make deals with him. One wrong move and I’ll regret I ever picked you up from the streets.” Jongin’s voice lowers. The scar on the edge of his eyebrow suddenly looks menacing to Baekhyun. “Have I told you that everything on this earth is made to be broken? Bodies… promises… hearts.”

Baekhyun nods.

“And do you know what happens to the people I regret having in my life, Baekhyun-ah?”

“Yes, master.” 

There was Sehun whom he knows Jongin met in Tokyo. There was also Luhan Jongin met in China. If Baekhyun knows what they have in common, they are these: that both of them have, in the very least, been fucked by Jongin and that they are, currently, six feet under the ground.

oOo

So Baekhyun asks himself, not for the first time today, what are the things worth dying for, then?

Family? He doesn't have one. Friends? He doubts he can consider anyone as a friend. Love? Has he even found it?

Wandering alone in a crowded circus with these thoughts, he’s suddenly pulled into an alley away from the buzz of clowns and jugglers. He’s high and dizzy and might have gotten a whiplash.

“Chanyeol?” Maybe he’s hallucinating. Who is this figure in front of him?

“What are you doing here?” Chanyeol’s tone is urgent.

“Can’t I have some… time away from all the—”

“Nevermind. Go with me.” Baekhyun is yet to say yes but he finds himself being dragged by the wrist. He tries to blink away the little dots that cloud his vision. They approach a Maserati convertible with its roof up.

Baekhyun is shoved inside the car. “Where are you taking me?”

Chanyeol doesn’t speak until he’s driven several meters away from the circus. “Did you smoke before leaving your headquarters?”

“No, I-”

“Don’t bother lying to me, Baekhyun. I can smell the caviar on you.”

“I passed by the den before I went to the circus. The smell must have stuck on my clothes,” Baekhyun mutters. He did snuff a stick at the den before he went out, but Chanyeol doesn’t have to know that. “What’s your problem?”

“That circus is gonna be raided half an hour from now. K9s will be coming and when they get a whiff of you, you’d be their lunch. Or the officers’ lunch.”

Baekhyun’s stomach turns. He was so close to getting into jail. For a second, the idea was appealing for him, or being away from Jongin and the headquarters is. He doesn’t like to assume that Chanyeol just saved him from the raid. Or else he would owe Chanyeol something. His mind is too clouded to think about how Chanyeol even knows about the raid. 

The car is going too fast, buildings blurring together outside of the window, moderately turning into bungalows, and then trees. They’re past the outskirts of the city. The car slows down.

Is this the part where Baekhyun pays Chanyeol?

Despite Jongin’s warnings, Baekhyun leans past the centre console. He feels so hot. The car completely stops in the middle of the road. Baekhyun’s eyes are closed and he waits for the moment their heads would collide and their lips would meet. It doesn’t come.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Chanyeol leaning back as far away as it is allowed inside this convertible’s cramped space.

Baekhyun blinks.

He goes back to his seat, turns away from Chanyeol and stares at the side view mirror.

Of course. He has seen Chanyeol trying to force himself on one of the female slaves before. Has he ever seen him with one of the male slaves?

“I was thinking how I should thank you,” he mutters into the silence. “That time you took a bullet for me might have been pure coincidence. This time—you deliberately went out of your way to get me away from that circus. So I thought—”

“Baekhyun, you’re under the influence of drugs. You’re not being yourself. I don’t want you to regret if ever we—I don’t want to force myself on anyone.”

Baekhyun’s jaw tightens. “That's very funny,” He now understands how to use that phrase. And he’s not laughing either. “You tried to force yourself on the slave before. Here I am, willingly… and yet…”

Chanyeol sighs. “I only tried to do that to see how you would stop me, because I know- I believe- you’re not all bad and I wanted to see it with my own eyes.”

“To see is to believe, right?” 

Suddenly there are teardrops rolling down from Baekhyun’s eyes. He doesn’t like the feeling of rejection, he admits, and the stick of cocaine he took earlier magnifies the hurt he would have been able to tolerate otherwise. And it’s not just the rejection. He doesn’t want to trust Chanyeol but the man’s actions make him want to. He doesn’t want to disobey Jongin. Piles of things he doesn’t want to do and he’s standing at the top. He’s falling from the precipice with no one to catch him.

His heart constricts, and it’s a little too difficult to breathe. “It’s good then, that I’m not a girl, or else maybe you would have taken me already.”

It takes a thump of Baekhyun’s heart before Chanyeol’s crossed the console. Baekhyun looks at him and feels his temperature rise. It must be the drug. Chanyeol’s long arms trap him. "You think I have no intentions to fuck you just because you’re a man? Can’t you remember the second time I bought slaves from you?"

Baekhyun remembers. Chanyeol’s breath on his neck, saying he’ll buy Baekhyun out of the cage… Then the memory of Jongin’s dark gaze on him, the warnings, the .45 caliber...

 _Not enough. Trouble. Regrets._ The words are clumped in his chest, almost choking him.

Chanyeol pulls a lever to recline the seat. And when before, Baekhyun was trapped in the corner of the passenger’s seat, right now he’s sandwiched between Chanyeol’s hovering body and the leather-covered seat on his back. Chanyeol’s knee is lodged between his thighs, so close to the apex. It takes one touch of Chanyeol’s denim-clad thigh on his crotch for Baekhyun to mewl, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Master, _please._ ” The words come out from Baekhyun's lips effortlessly, and Chanyeol's eyebrows furrow at them, but there's no time to think about it now.

Baekhyun’s hands, dainty and slender, are small compared to Chanyeol’s own. It surprises him when Chanyeol brings them up to his lips, pressing soft kisses on every knuckle. Baekhyun’s face is flushed against the dark leather. Chanyeol leans down and cups Baekhyun’s cheek before they kiss.

When they part, Baekhyun’s eyes are glassy. Chanyeol says, “I meant it when I said I’d buy you out of a cage. Any cage.”

The moment feels unreal. Baekhyun wants to live here, whatever universe this is. The fluttering of his stomach when Chanyeol’s lips press against his, forgetting what he’s left behind just by being in Chanyeol’s presence-

But then it is broken by the ringing of a phone.

“Go back to your seat and answer it.” Baekhyun sits up, resists the urge to shove Chanyeol away. He pulls the lever back to the seat’s original position.

Chanyeol bumps his head on the convertible’s ceiling when he shuffles back to the driver’s seat. He swipes the screen of his phone and puts the device to his ear.

“Yes.” Baekhyun hears him say. He’s staring at the side view mirror again. He wonders if someone would shoot it later. “I had an urgent business to attend to.” He hears Chanyeol say to the phone. A couple of _Yes, sir_ ’s and he drops the call.

Baekhyun evades Chanyeol’s glance but he can feel it.

“We’ll go back to the city tomorrow,” Chanyeol declares as if his word is law.

Baekhyun doesn’t utter a complaint. He doesn’t really want to go back to Jongin either.

oOo

Chanyeol brings Baekhyun to a three-star hotel, the nearest accommodation they’ve spotted online. The room they’re given was huge. Baekhyun doesn’t want to think how much it took from Chanyeol’s card. If Chanyeol would ask for a share, he wouldn’t be able to pay up. He doesn’t have anything with him other than the clothes he’s wearing.

There’s a balcony that overlooks the quiet neighborhood and, at a distance, the city lights blinking back at them. The rooms beside them seem to be empty, the lights turned off.

Baekhyun is taken unawares when Chanyeol embraces him from behind, his chin nestled on Baekhyun's shoulder, his arms around Baekhyun's waist. This is new. He registers the warmth of Chanyeol’s chest against his back. It feels… nice. If he’s bound for hell when Jongin shoots him dead, then this is the closest to heaven that Baekhyun will ever feel.

“I wanna be free.” Baekhyun doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t know what more he wants to say, or what answer he expects from Chanyeol.

“I know. I want you to be free, too.”

 _The cold surface of a desk. The nozzle of a gun on his cheek. Clenching the sheets tighter to handle the pain from the flogger_.

When he speaks next, Baekhyun's voice is small. “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“I told you I wanna save you from that place.”

“Chanyeol, you can’t.” Baekhyun turns around to face him, face grim. “You’re just stuck in the same position as me.”

“Who said I am?”

Baekhyun has never really considered it before. He just assumed— “Then what-” And something spreads inside Baekhyun’s chest right then. A drop of poison, perhaps. “Do you buy those slaves for yourself?”

“I buy them out of your business.” At Baekhyun’s confused look, Chanyeol continues. “I can help you, too, just like how I’ve helped them, if you tell me the name of your boss.”

_He looks like trouble._

“Baekhyun, I can help you. Just trust me on this one. I’m- I’m a—”

“A cop?”

He doesn’t even have to hear Chanyeol’s answer. Baekhyun knows it already at the way the color drains from Chanyeol’s face.

“Are you gonna send me to jail?” Baekhyun doesn’t understand why Chanyeol even drove him out of the circus that afternoon.

“No, no, I-”

“Please don’t lie to me anymore,” Baekhyun says, voice barely audible.

“I swear I won’t give you up to them- to the cops or back to your boss- because I—” Chanyeol inhales deeply. “I want to keep you for myself.” Baekhyun looks at Chanyeol whose brows are scrunched in the middle. “If you would let me.”

Baekhyun feels his knees weaken. Will it be better by Chanyeol’s side? When he looks at Chanyeol's eyes, he can see it. He drops to the ground and bows his head. “Then help me, Chanyeol. Please. Help me get away from Jongin.”

oOo

Baekhyun has difficulties standing up after hearing Chanyeol’s promise to help him, too weak in the knees after thinking of a million possibilities…

He’s brought to the tub, and Chanyeol left him in the peaceful sound of the water dripping. Baekhyun lets himself play with the bubbles. Time passes by but his fingers aren’t wrinkling yet, so it must not be that long. He spreads his palm on the water, making ripples from his fingertips.

There’s a chuckle by the door and he looks up to see Chanyeol—who else?—holding a half-filled wine glass and gazing at him in a way no one’s ever done before. At the back of his mind, he would have wanted Jongin to look at him like that.

“Scoot over, the tub’s large enough for two people.” Chanyeol puts the glass on the side of the tub before he undresses himself, and Baekhyun focuses on the bubbles again, gathering as much of them to cover his himself.

Chanyeol gets in and the water overflows. Baekhyun feels his face heat up. He can feel the blush reach his neck, then spread all over his chest.

“Does it feel cramped?” Chanyeol asks. Baekhyun notes the hard muscles of Chanyeol’s bicep touching his own.

It’s difficult to move their limbs now. And the possibility of skin contact is heightened to its maximum level. “A bit,” Baekhyun answers.

“Come here.” Chanyeol lifts him up and puts him down on his lap. Surprisingly, Chanyeol plants kisses all over his face, and grins back at Baekhyun when he parts. Baekhyun is drawn towards his warmth, if nothing else, and leans forward to return the favour, scattering kisses all over Chanyeol’s face.

They’re smiling at each other like fools in love ready to conquer the world. Baekhyun sits quietly, admiring Chanyeol drink red wine and licking his lips after. He wants to taste the wine, too.

“Can I have a sip?”

“Go ahead, baby.” Chanyeol hands him the glass. Baekhyun swirls the red wine before he brings the glass to his lips. Red Moscato. It leaves a sweet aftertaste in the back of his throat. The color makes him think of the blood that spilled when he shot the slaves before. 

“It’s good,” Baekhyun says. Perhaps it's a lie.

There has been a time when Jongin drank red wine from the planes of Baekhyun’s abdomen... Baekhyun snaps out of the memory when Chanyeol’s thumb traces circles on his cheek.

And then Chanyeol draws Baekhyun closer, kissing the tip of his nose. There's warmth glowing inside of him. When Chanyeol takes another sip from the glass, Baekhyun allows himself to rest his head on Chanyeol’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of Chanyeol’s heartbeats against his cheek.

oOo

They’re lying on the bed, side by side, faces across each other. Chanyeol’s eyes are closed and Baekhyun is still waiting for sleep to come. A thought comes inside Baekhyun’s mind.

“Chanyeol,” he calls out. Chanyeol opens his eyes and regards him in the darkness. “If… if one of us has to die, you have to let yourself live.”

The room suddenly turns cold.

“If you’re given the choice, stab me with a knife. It’s for a short range attack, right? I’d want to die by your arms. And... and I hope you kiss me when you stab me, perhaps it’ll hurt less.”

“Baekhyun, stop talking like this.”

“No, one of these days, Jongin will come for me. Maybe he’s even started his hunt right now.”

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

“It will be inevitable. I don’t want to give Jongin the satisfaction of killing me.” Baekhyun takes a deep breath. “But I’m offering myself to you. So don’t pull out the knife unless my heart has stopped beating.”

Baekhyun can picture out Chanyeol’s grimace. “Ask anything else but that.” It’s Chanyeol’s hoarse voice.

But Baekhyun is relentless. He turns to lie on his back so he’s not looking at Chanyeol’s eyes anymore but at the ceiling. “After you’ve buried the knife to the hilt, twist it, like it’s a pencil and I’m a sharpener. After you pull it out, let go of me.”

Chanyeol moves closer to him, collecting his limp body into an embrace. “How can you expect me to drive a knife through you after we’ve kissed?”

There’s a sigh. Perhaps from the both of them.

“Just spend a lifetime with me,” Chanyeol whispers.

Baekhyun thinks to die in the arms of a lover is the most preferable option as his entrance to hell.

Then he thinks back to the question he's been asking at the beginning of the day and maybe he's got an answer. He can’t confirm it yet, though. But he thinks love is worth dying for.

oOo

The sunrise on Baekhyun’s closed eyelids wakes him up. He looks at the side to see Chanyeol already looking at him with a soft smile on his face. After last night, yesterday morning seems to be far away, and the night Jongin warned him about trouble even more so distant in his memory.

Baekhyun sits up and sees that the balcony has been opened, and there’s breakfast daintily arranged on the table there.

“Did you prepare the breakfast?” Baekhyun gets up, giddy. It’s his first time living in this that he considers the moment a luxury in life.

Baekhyun rushes towards the open air and imagines himself being a prince as he looks over the landscape and in a faraway sight, the city. Chanyeol presses himself against Baekhyun’s back. It's just like last night. 

Baekhyun inhales the fresh air, and turns around to face Chanyeol, making him step around him so that their sides are against the bannister.

The sunrise makes Chanyeol glow, but Baekhyun thinks Chanyeol’s smile is could be his personal brand of sunrise, his favorite one. Chanyeol plants a kiss on the crown of his head, soft lips against soft locks of hair, and embraces him again.

“I don’t wanna let this go,” Chanyeol whispers.

Baekhyun agrees. The moment is so magical, almost unbelievable. And it only took him an afternoon in a circus to reach this. It’s too good to be true.

The embrace gets tighter.

And suddenly– surprisingly– Chanyeol switches their position. There’s a whizzing sound—that of a gun screwed with a silencer—

Baekhyun leans back and watches with wide eyes, horror written all over his face, as the color of last night’s red wine spreads over Chanyeol’s bed shirt. His tight grip on Chanyeol’s arms is probably the only reason that Chanyeol’s still upright.

There's another gunshot Baekhyun barely registers until Chanyeol looks like wine has been spilled all over him.

Baekhyun can feel the magic draining out from the future he's mapped out together with—

“Ch-chanyeol, there’s blood—”

“We bleed to know we’re alive…” Chanyeol’s smile falters. “…right?”

**Author's Note:**

> you can also leave your comment (if you wanna) at [my LJ](http://jadeu.livejournal.com/5988.html)


End file.
